Gold Digger

by Aleksandr Voinov

  Of course I’ll come. Currently in Toronto, any chance we can meet up in a week or so? I’ll get tickets booked ASAP.

  He was dry after he’d gone through his email, and he pulled his suitcase out from under his bed to dig for fresh clothes. Suit for dinner? Had Henri said restaurant or bar? What was the custom here? If it was business, suit, but this wasn’t purely business. Then again, why else would Henri want to chat? The dinner invite was about letting his hair down. Damn, an invitation to a bar or pub would have been easier to parse. Don’t be a tool, Nikolai. Go with your gut.

  His gut was firmly in the “could eat a horse—in bed” camp, though, so no big help.

  Jeans then. As much as Vadim liked to dress up, his father wore a mean pair of jeans himself, and these had gotten Vadim’s approval. Dark blue stonewashed, designer, but scuffed and softened from getting down and dirty all over the world. His favorite pair. He then selected one of the tailored shirts and snatched the suit jacket off the hook. It was the casual-but-expensive look that covered both bases. He wouldn’t look too out of place either in a bar or a restaurant, and he figured Henri would have warned him if it was supposed to be more official than that.

  He combed through his damp hair and let it dry like it wanted. It was too short to look like a total mess. He then settled in front of his laptop and answered the less urgent emails, a couple sent by Tamás, who was on the same floor but probably already conked out on the bed.

  And a reply from Vadim: I’ll be here. Want to meet in Wellington or at home?

  Whenever they met, Vadim usually showed him a part of New Zealand—probably, Nikolai suspected, a part he’d just explored himself. He remembered the long nights in Rotorua, finally talking about all the things that had remained unspoken for way too many years. Vadim never found that easy, talking, but he appreciated it when they could speak somewhere with few distractions.

  Wellington, Nikolai emailed back. I’ll book a hotel there. I’ll be done here on Tuesday.

  He’d barely typed “hotel” and “Wellington” into Google when Vadim forwarded him a booking confirmation for the Museum Art Hotel in Wellington. Seven nights. Suite.

  Nikolai pulled his phone from his pocket and hit the speed dial.

  “Krasnorada.”

  “Yes, same here,” Nikolai muttered, slightly exasperated at being outrun by his old man. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m doing well. I was just at the computer.”

  “I figured.”

  Vadim huffed softly.

  “I mean, it’s appreciated, but I’m earning my own money these days.”

  “You’re covering the flights.”

  “That’s . . . beside the point, but yeah, you’re right.” His father was financially comfortable. A few hundred Kiwi dollars more or less wouldn’t kill him or lose him the house. Damn, it was that same eggshell dance again. Somehow, dealing with his father always made him cautious, and it wasn’t just because they were missing so many years of shared history and frankly still had no idea how to treat each other naturally or easily. “I mean, thank you. I assume that’s a good one?”

  “Jean and Solange loved it when they came over.”

  “Jean’s going to love anything near the gay district,” Nikolai said half to himself.

  “Well, then trust Solange’s taste.”

  “Mixed results there, with that husband.”

  Vadim chuckled. “You don’t like him?”

  “Did I ever tell you he tried to come on to me?”

  “When was that?”

  “When you and your husband got married. He got drunk and I thought he was getting awfully close.”

  “Jean’s always been challenged in terms of personal space.”

  “Or, you know, truthfulness and honesty.” Cheating on his beautiful wife with a number of gay buddies.

  “He’s not going to be here when you come over. They’re in France.”

  “Anybody else going to be there?”

  “No.” That meant his partner was traveling and meeting friends. But digging for specifics was useless. Vadim shared as much as he was comfortable with and nothing more.

  “Any other responsibilities?”

  “I’ll let people know I won’t be teaching that week. It’s fine. I’ll leave them in the hands of one of the advanced students.”

  “Okay. I just don’t want to disrupt your life too much.” That was one of the harder lessons he’d learned in life so far. That other people had normal jobs and owned houses (or were still paying them off), and that he couldn’t just blunder into their routine and hope they’d always welcome him.

  Thoughtful silence. His father might be building up to say something very profound out of nowhere, like he sometimes did.

  “I mean, I’m looking forward to it,” he continued, aware it sounded lame.

  “That’s all that counts,” Vadim said. Something creaked in the background. Maybe he was getting up or pacing in the living room. “Send me your flight details. I’ll pick you up.”

  “Palmerston North?”

  “That would be ideal. We’ll drive down to Wellington together.”

  “Okay.” Nikolai smiled. “Thanks, Dad.”

  Vadim hung up, and Nikolai turned back to his laptop. He checked a dozen websites, but even the connecting flight via San Francisco was something like six and a half thousand Canadian dollars. He grimaced. So much for a quick dash down to New Zealand. There were places in the world where he could live quite comfortably for many months on that kind of cash.

  But his father had already booked the hotel and was looking forward to seeing him, and calling again to tell him it wouldn’t happen quite so soon wouldn’t be good. He hated disappointing his father. And he might be able to write off at least part of that expense on his taxes. It wouldn’t be the first time he bought outrageous tickets because he wanted to be in a specific place as fast as possible, or to simply get away. So he booked the damned tickets and, once the confirmation arrived, took pains to forward only the dates and flight numbers.

  He checked his watch. Fifteen minutes now. So he went for a leak, combed his mostly dry hair again, and emailed Tamás about his travel plans. He’d explain the absence to Ruslan later. It wasn’t as if he had to sit on Ruslan’s lap every hour of every day.

  He slid his credit card into his wallet, stuffed it in his back pocket, and took the hotel key card with him. Down in the lobby, he recognized Henri, who was playing with his cell phone, probably to kill the last few minutes.

  Nikolai walked up to him. “Hey. You’re already here?”

  Henri glanced up, startled, then gave him a warm, oddly heartfelt smile. “Nikolai. Yes, I thought—I didn’t want to be late.”

  “Uh. There’s been a change of plans. I don’t think anything could revive Tamás that’s allowable under the Geneva Conventions.”

  Henri looked concerned. “Is he all right?”

  “Yes, just dead tired. We’ve all been working pretty hard, but he worked the hardest. I think the most humane thing is to let him sleep.”

  “How about you?”

  “I’m fine. I’m a night owl.”

  “I don’t want to make you come out when you’d rather stay in.”

  Nikolai shook his head. “Seriously, I’m good. Just lead the way.”

  Henri motioned him outside and stepped up to a silver sports car that looked as if it could take off like a rocket. The door slid up and stood vertically. Nikolai levered himself into the car, which was awkward at his size. No way it could be easy for a woman in heels, either. But once he was inside, there was a surprising amount of legroom, and the molded leather seats held him so comfortably he wasn’t sure he wanted to get up again. Henri slid the door shut behind him and walked around the car, then opened the door on the driver’s side.

  The middle console was high enough to comfortably rest an arm on, and it led right into a panel that looked like something from a starship. Henri settled and pulled his seat belt into place. Ni
kolai copied him, usually comfortable not to wear one, but in this car, he figured he’d rather be safe than very squashed.

  “Where would you like to go?” Henri asked.

  “This thing probably goes to the moon.”

  “Not on what I have left in the tank.”

  Nikolai laughed and relaxed into the seat. “Wherever. I’ll trust you.”

  “Seafood? Steak? A pub?”

  “Ideally nowhere with a dress code.”

  “Let’s do steak. Though they do other things as well.” Henri tapped the starship dial thing between them, and the car came alive with a deep, gentle vibration. Nikolai almost laughed at how weirdly sensual that seemed, the sports car purring like a tiger around him. It was probably a huge hit with the ladies, even though Henri didn’t look like any of those middle-aged losers with too much money and too little hair who needed a car like this to get laid.

  “This car considerably shortens foreplay, doesn’t it?”

  Henri stared at him, then laughed. “Do you like high-end cars?”

  Nikolai wasn’t quite sure how Henri had jumped to that conclusion. “I’m more a Jeep or Land Rover kind of guy myself. This car wouldn’t be able to cope with the places I usually travel. Try driving this anywhere in the Armenian outback.”

  Henri nodded. “It’s certainly a comfortable way to be in the middle of a classic Toronto traffic jam.” He pressed another button. The engine purred louder, sounding eager now, and Henri pulled out of the parking space. And damn if it wasn’t a stylish way to float along the streets. Nikolai leaned back and listened to the engine and glanced outside the window at yet another strange new city. Why was it that all cities were the same at night?

  The car was gliding pleasantly along. He should probably make conversation, but on the other hand, distracting a driver wasn’t polite, so Nikolai just let him be.

  Eventually, Henri pulled into a side street and parked. Damn, this was a nice little car.

  “It’s just your friendly neighborhood steakhouse, but one of my favorite places.”

  The restaurant didn’t look like much from the outside, and inside, Nikolai would have been surprised if more than twenty-five people could fit into the main room. Maybe there was more space in the back, but he somehow doubted it.

  The few patrons seemed like a good mix—couples, mostly, and a group of young women, two of whom looked at him and smiled. Nikolai smiled back, momentarily distracted. He needed to concentrate, though, so he settled with his back to the room.

  They ordered drinks—Henri went with red wine and Nikolai joined him for a bottle. “One of us will have to drive,” he warned.

  Henri smiled. “I might let you drive my car if you’re good.”

  “Maybe I should get you drunk, then.”

  “You like the car?” Henri asked, leaning forward.

  “Enough to get you drunk,” Nikolai warned when the wine came.

  “Taking advantage of my French genetic vulnerability. I see how it is.” Henri laughed. “Fine. You can drive it.” He took the wineglass and saluted Nikolai with it, then deliberately took two deep draughts.

  Nikolai grinned and hid behind his menu for a few moments. He went with the aged sirloin and plenty of salad. Henri didn’t even check the menu and just ordered “the usual” when the waiter showed up. Nikolai gave him the menu, relaxing into the anticipation of the food.

  Henri finished his wine and poured himself a second glass. He grinned, still amused from their banter, it seemed. “I’m sorry you found my uncle disagreeable.”

  “As long as he agrees in the end, I don’t mind.”

  “You’d take his bossing around as long he signs the contract?”

  Nikolai paused while the waiter lit the candle between them. He tapped the stem of his glass with a finger. “He’s right to be skeptical. I would. That’s a lot of money.”

  “Not for him. We had a record year. Record profits. Our analysts are begging us to make some acquisitions; the war chest is full and we need to grow.”

  “We were hoping for an investment, not to be bought out.” Ruslan losing control of his baby—that thought hurt. “Our CEO, Ruslan Polunin, won’t accept a full takeover offer.”

  “Not even a hostile one?”

  “Jesus.” Nikolai stared Henri in the face. “Seriously?”

  Henri shrugged. “My uncle didn’t build an empire by playing nice. Though I don’t know what strategy he’ll use here. Fact is, we have the money to just take you over.”

  Nikolai rubbed his face. How would he explain that to Ruslan? “We would really prefer for that not to happen.” Only forty percent of the company was free float, but LeBeau could always launch a bid for the shares their large investors were holding.

  Henri glanced up when their steaks arrived, leaned back from the table, and smiled softly. He was a good-looking man, Nikolai realized. An oddly square jaw in an otherwise more delicate face.

  “Why are you telling me this? It’s not in your interest.”

  “Don’t jump to conclusions about my interest. Personally, I think people should know what’s coming for them.”

  “Oh? That seems like giving the advantage away. You’re going to be CEO after your uncle, so why would you step in when he’s after some small fry like us?”

  “I prefer both people to know they’re playing chess, rather than one guy thinking he’s playing checkers.” Henri leaned down over his food and drew in a deep breath. Both slabs of grilled meat looked absolutely delicious, although Nikolai wasn’t sure he felt like eating. He’d likely be hungry if he returned to the hotel without having eaten. The half-finished packet of peanuts he had somewhere in his suitcase wasn’t really any kind of competition. Besides, he didn’t want to give away how rattled he was.

  “Ruslan’s going to fight for Cybele,” he said and began to cut up his steak. As ordered, it was just faintly pink in the middle, whereas Henri’s had a purple strip. Working in the tropics had cured Nikolai of the desire to eat anything raw.

  “You also seem to care a great deal about a company that doesn’t actually make much money.”

  “None, so far.”

  “So, how’s it paying salaries?”

  “Sweat equity.”

  “Oh, so you own a few percent?”

  Nikolai shrugged and glanced at his plate while chewing the first bite. “That’s an amazing steak.”

  “It rather is, isn’t it? My favorite place for dead cow from Alberta.” Henri gingerly cut off a bite, movements precise and oh so civilized. But at the rate he was going through the heavy red wine, he’d be drunk before he cleared his plate. “But is that how the whole operation works?”

  “No. The guys who need a salary are getting one. I don’t. I take the shares.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s my pension plan.”

  “Ah, a man who can delay gratification. That’s rare.” Henri gave him a dirty grin, and Nikolai backtracked, but didn’t see anything in his statement that had invited that. He glanced down at Henri’s hands. No ring or traces of one. Instead, a Rolex. Glittering cufflinks that were likely diamonds—which made sense for a diamond and gold miner. Strong fingers, longish hands, fingernails immaculate. Hands that hadn’t physically worked a day in their life. His own hands looked uncouth by comparison. He had calluses, for one, and worn skin, short-trimmed fingernails that had never been polished or manicured (despite his father’s best efforts to get him to a spa somewhere in Thailand to relax). Nikolai liked what his hands said about him.

  “You assume I get gratification out of money,” Nikolai told his steak, then glanced up.

  Henri sucked in a deep breath and put his glass down. A drop of wine clung to his lower lip, and Nikolai stared at it until Henri dabbed it away with his serviette. “How do you get your kicks then, Nikolai?”

  The room’s atmosphere had changed; the electric charge was odd, but he couldn’t deny it. Was it that Henri was flirting with him? He wasn’t great at telling whether a guy w
as gay or not. For the longest time he’d thought Jean, of all people, was straight. His father never gave away that he was gay, though that was probably one of those things a child could never tell. Nikolai kept eating, using the cutting and chewing and swallowing to win time. Besides, the steak was spectacular. He shrugged and looked at Henri. “I’m really a simple guy. I stand by my friends, and Ruslan is a friend.”

  “Close?”

  “We—” Why would Henri ask him about his kicks and whether he was close with Ruslan? He was fishing for something. “He’s my boss and my friend. He built that company from nothing. He’s an extremely hard worker, and I’ve never seen him treat anybody unfairly. He gave me a job when I needed one, and he’s never asked anything from me I couldn’t give him.” That sounded wrong, so he added, “I’ve only started to learn my job there. A few years ago, I knew nothing about gold or very much about geology. He gave me time to learn. I’m grateful for that.”

  “So what did he see in you?”

  “He said I’m a good guy, and a good guy shouldn’t go to waste.”

  Henri leaned back and regarded him, then drank more wine. Somehow, they were on the second bottle, and Nikolai had only had one glass. He switched to water. Was Henri trying to make himself vulnerable? Spill his plans and claim later he’d been drunk? These corporate mindfucks were so not his usual game. He wished Tamás were here so he could talk to somebody without having to consider traps and double-dealing.

  “Know what? I like this Ruslan, and I haven’t even met him.” Henri turned his wineglass in his hand. “Seems he has a gift for people. Seeing potential. Seeing through people.”

  “In my case, that’s as easy as looking through a window,” Nikolai joked.